PreDug
by TGardian
Summary: A mentally challenged boy is sent to Camp Greenlake for a crime he didn't even know he commited. Alone, he manages to bring out the innocense and mystery of Camp Greenlake.
1. Roger's Crime

Disclaimer- I do not own Holes. Or holes. Holes and holes were each invented by someone else. If you didn't know that, I suggest you dig yourself into the one of the things that you think I invented.  
  
Roger stared out the bus window, recalling his horrible fate. He had just been in the wrong place at the wrong place, that was all. Or maybe not. He didn't know. He didn't know anything anymore. All he remembered was his so-called friend Drake telling him to get something. All he had to do was run in the store, grab the chain, and run back. Drake had left it in the store, he said. They wouldn't let him get it back. Just run, grab the chain, run back. Run, grab, run. Seemed simple enough.  
  
He never knew what he was really doing until it was too late. Never heard the alarms, couldn't read the price tag that was still on the pretty chain that supposedly belonged to his friend.  
  
Next thing he knew, he was arrested.  
  
He had never even considered that the chain did not belong to Drake, and that his "friend" was taking advantage of him. All he thought was, I have to get this chain. It belongs to my good friend and these bad people won't give it back. He didn't have any clue that he had stolen something until he saw the police.  
  
Suddenly, understanding hit him. This wasn't a chain. This was a golden necklace, worth at least $1500. Drake had wanted that necklace, wanted it so bad that he took advantage of Rogers' low I.Q to get it for him.   
  
The guard on the bus turned to Roger. "Ain't talking much, are ya?". Roger turned and glared at him. Obviously he wasn't going to talk. He was on his way to some stupid old camp for a crime he didn't even know he commited. What did the guard expect him to do, jump up and go "Howdy"?  
  
The guard sneered. "Nah, guess not. Most of them don't. But ya gotta keep a positive attitude for Camp Greenlake, son."  
  
Roger was pretty much aware of this. From what he had heard, Camp Greenlake wasn't the best place to go. Some people had actually advised him to take jail instead when he got to court. But what was he supposed to do in jail? He wasn't much good at lifting weights or cooking gruel. He didn't want to just sit on his cot and think because he didn't quite like thinking, either. It confused him. Sometimes it even drove him nuts, what with the 872% of 1000 and how to spell the names of Indian tribes that lived about 300000 years ago. He believed it was better to just think simple. Simple would get you places.  
  
Drake used to be in his old school, before he started to go to that dumb special school of his. He was always joking and fooling around, sometimes hanging out with Roger with his other friends. For some reason Roger couldn't quite comprehend, Drake and his crew always laughed whenever he did something, like tripping over a root or dancing funny. He didn't care; it felt good to be a comedian.  
  
The sudden stop of the bus brought Roger to his senses. "Time to get off, now," the guard sneered. Roger obediently trudged off, looking into his surroundings.  
  
Everything was dust and desert as far as the eye could see. Boys of all colors and sizes looped far and wide in front of him, each digging a hole. I wonder why, thought Roger. Maybe it's part of the activities here. He knew that they weren't really "activities" but he couldn't quite put his finger on what they really were. Punishments, maybe.  
  
"Come on," growled the guard, dragging Roger into a nearby run-down shack-like cabin.  
  
Inside the cabin was a man, smoking a cigarette(A/N: Yes I know he quit, but this takes place way before Stanley's arrival!) and leering profoundly. He smiled in a way that made Roger almost want to throw up. "So, you're the new guy, eh?" he crowed. "We been expectin ya. You're the jewlery theif, aintcha?" Roger blinked. "Well, I dont rightly know. I dont think so. Ain't sure."  
  
The man seemed amused in an odd way. "Well, you oughta know if yeh've stolen sumthin or other..."  
  
The guard sighed. "Mr. Sir, I'll be leavin this rogue with you now. I gotta go pick up more trouble makin boys. Ain't a good season for bein' good."  
  
Mr. Sir waved clumsily, then turned to Roger. "All right, boy...put on these clothes and you'll be all ready..." Roger raised an eyebrow. "Ready fer what, sir?"  
  
The man waved him on. "That's Mr. Sir to you, boy. And the clothes er fer diggin' holes. That's all yer gonna be doin' here, so you betta get used to it." 


	2. Techno and the Lizard

Disclaimer: I do not own Holes. If I did I would be someone else. Which I'm not. Um...yay?...  
  
Roger reluctantly put on his new grimy orange uniform. Honestly, it was covered in patches of dirt, slightly ripped and looked as if it had never been washed at all. He wondered who had worn it before him, and if they had rabies. Wait...was it rabies that was transferrable by clothes? Or lice, or ringworm? Maybe all three. See, there he went confusing himself again. That's what it's like when you're me, he thought.  
  
Mr. Sir looked up nonchalantly. "Hurry up, boy, dont got all--*burp* day." Roger quickly zippered the back of his suit and caught the identical outfit that Mr. Sir threw to him. "This one's for relaxation, boy. Or death. Whichever comes first," he laughed. Roger stared blankly. Was this a joke? Or did this guy really mean it? Too afraid to worry about it at the moment, Roger quickly took his supplies and new outfit and hurried out of the shack into the dust.  
  
He looked around, confused. He knew he was supposed to dig a hole. But how deep? How large? How could he even get a shovel? He searched around for someone to ask. Leaning over near one kid, he whispered, "Psssst! Where do I get a shovel, and how big does my hole have to be?" The kid looked at Roger as if he were the dumbest guy alive, but was too tired to insult. "Over there," he pointed to an odd-shaped shack. "The hole's gotta be five feet deep, five feet wide. The shovel's gonna be your measuring stick." Roger nodded and hurried over to the shack. Opening the door, he found just a couple shovels that were all scarred and beat up. He sighed, grabbed a shovel, and began to work.  
  
Now at this moment, the kid from before happened to peek out of his hole and see Roger attempting to dig right in front of the shovel shack. He yelled across the desert, "NO! NOT IN FRONT OF THE SHOVELS!!!"  
  
Roger looked over. "OKAY." He was not one for arguing, especially for a place he was new to. He walked over about fifty feet from the shovels and began to dig.  
  
Digging was fun. So far he found a few shiny rocks, some black sand, some underground weeds. It felt like digging for buried treaure or fossilized dinosaur bones. Yet soon he began to tire, and suddenly it hit him; this wasn't an archeaogical dig. This was a punishment, something he'd be stuck doing for the next fifteen months.   
  
After what was just a few hours but seemed like years, Roger was done with his hole. He was the new guy, so of course everyone else had been done before him. Yet he had some sort of a knack for digging holes; it seemed to come naturally. He wasn't thinking of food, or water, or a warm shower while digging because he didn't like to think. All he concentrated on was digging that hole. Dig, dig, dig until it was five feet deep and high feet wide. Wasn't too hard if you weren't thinking of anything else. No pain, no hunger, no thirst, no filth...just digging.  
  
Roger slipped into his assigned cabin number, dropped into an empty cot, and fell asleep instantly despite the horrid odor and hardness. He had an odd dream; in his dream he was a lizard. Eagles and hawks swooped down all around him, pecking the ground in a vain attempt to scare him off. Yet he felt some sort of lizard power; running. Running, like digging, could be easy if you just cleared your mind. Run from the eagles, run from the hawks, run. Lizard Roger was turning around, swirling around all the golden beaks of the eagles and hawks dive bombing around him on this desert scenery; run. And all of a sudden, he was hit with a golden whip and woken up.  
  
He squinted. The kid from before, obviously his cabin mate, was pounding his cot. It hurt. Roger sat up immediately. "What are ya doin'?" he asked with a mix of sleep and fear.  
  
The kid seemed to be sweating now; crying. "Dont move a muscle, ya hear me? There's a yellow-spotted lizard in this here cot, I'm trying to drive it away--"  
  
He usually was very adapt at listening to instructions, but not this time. Roger looked between this kids hand pounding a rock on the cot, and saw a lizard. It had no yellow spots or whatnot however; even in the dark Roger could make out the electric blue spots that covered it's body. He looked up in confusion. "Yellow spots? This critter here, he's got blue spots. Take a look, friend."  
  
The kid looked at Roger and screamed. "Are you downright CRAZY!? The thing's got yellow spots! Look at it! Look at it, are you COLORBLIND?"  
  
"Look at the critter," Roger said simply. The kid took a good look at the skittering critter and found that Roger was right. In the dark, the light neon blue spots were very easily mistaken for yellow. Yet in truth, they were actually a completely different color.  
  
The kid stared. "You're...right. Wow. All this fuss for nothing." He gazed. "That's downright amazing, didn't know that blue-spotted lizards even existed, confound it..."  
  
Roger stared. "Guess they do, don't they?". And without thinking, the boy reached down and let the terrorized lizard crawl up his arm.  
  
The kid gasped. "W-w-what did you do that for? It could be poisionous! It probably is poisonous!"  
  
He shrugged. "Looks pretty friendly to me." The lizard crawled around him, sniffing his face like a dog or cat. Roger chuckled. "Looks like I've made a new friend, here."  
  
The other boy watched in amazement as this wild, terrified creature seemed at total peace with this new guy. Probably have the same I.Q level, he thought. Nevertheless, this guy was brave.  
  
"Welcome to Camp Greenlake, Lizard." said the boy. "I'm Techno." 


End file.
